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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25092901">i'm here for a reason (thank you for waiting)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/w0nderlei/pseuds/w0nderlei'>w0nderlei</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Grad School Student Malfoy, Harry opened up a Foundation for children, Harry takes care of Draco when he's sick, M/M, Mutual Pining, Neighbors AU, Non-Explicit Sex, Plants, Recreational Drug Use, Tattoo Artist Draco Malfoy, bonding through good, draco lives as a muggle, draco living as muggle, eventually roommates, mostly harry pov, no beta we die like men, one part with Draco POV, they are GONE for each other, yearning!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:21:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25092901</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/w0nderlei/pseuds/w0nderlei</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry moves into a new Muggle building, searching for a fresh start. He finds Draco instead.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>305</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i'm here for a reason (thank you for waiting)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from "it gets better" by rex orange county<br/>a song that came up when i was writing &amp; the lyrics resonated with how i wanted this to feel</p><p>"four years later and look where we really are, look how far we've come, look at us now."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The last box hit the ground with a resounding thump.</p><p>Harry glanced around the apartment. It was only boxes now, but it had plenty of sun and space. Fourth house, second home. Maybe third. Even if he never officially lived in the Burrow, it would always be home, like Ron and Hermione were – even without Ginny.</p><p>Their breakup had left him soft and tender. He missed his friend so much it hurt, but they deserved this: to be happy, <em>really</em> happy. And the truth was they weren’t when they were together.</p><p>He tried to remember that it made sense for him to move out. She had the apartment first. He needed to be closer to the Foundation. It was <em>his </em>decision, one that made sense, but it didn’t leave him any less raw.</p><p>Once the couch was set up, Ron and Hermione took upon themselves to watch over Harry. He felt like a baby, as they switched hanging out with him and sleeping over. He tried to insist that they didn't need to, but deep down, he was grateful.</p><p>When life inevidentably got busy, he saw them less and less. While he wasn’t so fragile, the loneliness grew <em>heavy</em>. It greeted him like an old enemy and stubbornly clung to his heart, even in the best of situations.</p><p>He asked his Mind Healer about it once. She said it was because he hadn’t made a home inside himself yet.</p><p>“You have a home in others...which is good because we all need our support systems,” she said, gray eyes boring into him. “But how do you feel when you are alone, Harry? Do you feel safe? Loved?”</p><p>He didn’t answer, but they both knew the truth.</p><p>He was trying. He was really trying.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>Harry was rubbish at washing spells. But doing it the Muggle way was almost just as much trouble. It was partly his fault for procrastinating and letting it pile up, but it was also the building’s fault for making the laundry room so far away.</p><p>Slowly, he shuffled towards the elevator with a stack of plastic baskets, blocking his vision.</p><p>When he finally got there, all the machines were taken. He sighed, looking for a spare table. Someone behind him cleared their throat.</p><p>“Couldn’t afford a second trip, Potter?”</p><p>Harry froze. That pretentious, drawling voice sent shivers through his body. It brought him back to Wizengamot, and before that, Hogwarts – two realities far away from where he was now.</p><p>He whipped around to confirm. Unfortunately, his waist twisted faster than his torso, sending his clothes flying in the air and body into the ground. He groaned at the burst of pain coming from the back of his head. His glasses were askew, but it was a blessing. That way he did not have to witness that <em>stupid </em>smirk he knew was waiting for him.</p><p>Surprisingly, he was offered a hand.</p><p>Harry frowned and helped himself up instead. The helping hand hung awkwardly in the air before returning to the man’s side again.  </p><p>He adjusted his glasses and stared at him, praying to Merlin that he was wrong. Gray eyes, arrogant posture, wicked smirk. Of course, there were new things that came with time: darker eye bags, the beginnings of stubble, an aura of peace that was <em>never </em>there before. But there was no mistaking that voice – its distinct rasp had wormed its way into his memory a long time ago.</p><p>“Malfoy, what are you doing here?”</p><p>He looked at Harry, amused. “I live here.”</p><p>“You-you…live…?” His brain short-circuited. Malfoy did not live in a Muggle apartment building.</p><p>“Yes, Potter. Top floor. Please try to keep up.”</p><p>“Top floor. And I…”</p><p>“Live here, too,” he said, slowly. He brought the tips of his hands together. “That makes us neighbors.”</p><p>“Neighbors."</p><p>“Are you just going to repeat things I say?”</p><p> “Neighbors...”</p><p>His eye twitched, seeing all his plans to avoid the Wizarding World explode. His brain quickly offered a solution.</p><p>“You need to move immediately,” Harry said, pointing at the man. He ignored the offended gasp to gather his clothes. (They had landed everywhere.)</p><p>A beat of silence passed before Malfoy knelt and began to help Harry, gathering the clothes quickly with pale, nimble fingers. “Why should I move out? I got here first.”</p><p>“So, you should leave first,” Harry reasoned, clearing his throat.</p><p>Malfoy rolled his eyes instead of responding. In silence, they gathered his clothes quickly, placing the baskets side by side. During this time, Harry thought of one thousand reasons that Malfoy should move out, but one stood above the rest.</p><p>“We are going to kill each other,” he said. </p><p>“Maybe,” Malfoy said, but then he sent Harry a wink. “Or not.”</p><p>That sent weird, confusing heat throughout Harry’s body.</p><p>“Well, as lovely as this reunion has been, I have to get going,” Malfoy said, glancing at his watch. “See you never, Potter.”</p><p>He swaggered out, a bounce in his step that Harry remembered from Hogwarts. In a weird way, he had missed it. The last time they had met was Wizengamot. He had left the room with a slow, miserable drag of his feet. The scrape of his soles against the wooden floor sounded like condemnation. This bounce was more familiar.</p><p>But still, Harry could not decide which he preferred.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>The eggs stared at Harry.</p><p>Harry stared back.</p><p>In his periphery, he could feel the tomatoes and cheese stare at him too. It was not in a kind way.</p><p>“I can’t do it, okay!?”</p><p>He was met with silence.</p><p>For the last few weeks, breakfast was pitiful thing – mediocre tea, lukewarm from neglect. But today was different; he was going to have <em>warmth </em>and <em>nourishment </em>because he <em>deserved</em> it. His day was clear and he had all the ingredients.</p><p>Except for one – the very ingredient that peeked out from a canvas bag under Malfoy’s arm – the delicious herb, basil.</p><p>It had been two weeks since the laundry incident. Harry had done an amazing job of avoiding him up until this morning. When he came back from a run, Malfoy strolled into the lobby, two bags under his arms. He looked completely out of place by being in place. In his cashmere sweater and Oyster card in hand, he looked like he belonged in the Muggle world.</p><p>Harry caught his gaze. He stared for a moment before giving him a nod and walking off. A simple, but polite interaction. And if it were anyone but Malfoy, Harry wouldn’t be bothered at all. But it was him. He rolled his eyes, mood soured. <em>I didn’t want to talk either.</em></p><p> </p><p>A simple interaction. A quick exchange of words was all that stood between him and his wonderful breakfast.</p><p>The eggs continued to stare at him.</p><p>His stomach grumbled, angry at him too.</p><p>“Okay, I will go!”</p><p>He pulled on a jumper and ran out of his apartment before he could talk himself out of it. Only when he was in front of the door, staring at his flipflops, he remembered the possibility of Malfoy rejecting him. This would lead to a fight because it was Malfoy and it always led to a fight.</p><p>
  <em>Except last time.</em>
</p><p>“Please say yes,” he muttered, hand raised to knock. “That basil is my self-care.”</p><p>A snort came from behind him. “Alright there, Potter?”</p><p>He ignored the instinct to jump up, “Don’t you have other things to do than sneak up on me?”</p><p>“You’re in front of <em>my </em>house,” he pointed out, shoving past him to unlock the door.</p><p>He was wearing a different outfit than the morning - white sneakers, white trousers and a white button-down. It was stupid, even it fit him well. He left the door open behind him, so Harry followed along, suspiciously feeling like he was entering a haunted house.</p><p>And he was not far off.</p><p>Malfoy’s apartment was bigger than Harry’s, but he could barely tell with all the <em>mess</em>.  </p><p>Mugs found themselves in every space of the apartment: the granite kitchen table, the floor near the balcony doors and from his viewpoint, the bathroom. Most were half-filled and stained with tea. Next to each mug, there were stacks of paper, journals and scrolls. He noticed the plants next, ceramic pots filled with soil, arranged in neat, even rows in the living room. But then, he spotted the board.</p><p>The board was center of it all.  </p><p>It took up most of the living room wall, opposite the Floo, filled with moving photos and sketches. Some were connected with red string. According to the years pinned up, they seemed to make up a timeline. Next to them, meticulous notes or printed articles. Harry squinted. The font seemed familiar for some reason. He glanced at the sketches, trying to find the connection. But instead, he was caught by their beauty. The subjects weren’t one thing particularly, but each had the same feel: so precise, lovely and <em>cared for</em>. Harry almost forgot to breathe.</p><p>Malfoy walked into the living room, a steaming cup of tea in his hand.</p><p>He glared at the board. “That ugly thing is my thesis.”</p><p>Harry remembered Hermione, curled on the couch, reading through a thick packet with the same small font, a wrinkle between her eyebrows.</p><p>“You’re in the CLASS program,” Harry said, everything clicking into place.</p><p>Connect-Learning Around Silent Stories (CLASS) was a program at one of the best Muggle schools, Oxford. It was the first ever to offer a Masters, valid in both Magical and Muggle worlds. It was an attempt of many, since the war, to provide more overlap between the two worlds.</p><p>Malfoy looked at him in surprise, “Yeah, I am.”</p><p>“With Hermione,” he continued. She loved the program.</p><p>The other boy nodded.</p><p>“Which is why you knew I lived here,” Harry said. “Seventh floor. Neighbors.” </p><p>He took a sip from the mug. “I am surprised that Granger didn’t mention it.”</p><p>Harry was not. It was subtle, but Harry knew both Hermione and Ron avoided the topic of Malfoy (all Slytherins, really) in front of him. Even though Malfoy was in the same program as Hermione and Pansy worked often with Ginny. Lines softened over the last five years, completely crossed in some places. But Harry gladly ignored the progress, pretending to not see it.</p><p>Up until now. </p><p>“Maybe she thought the shock would give me an advantage for our inevitable fight.”</p><p>“We didn’t need to fight. You knocked yourself out on your own.”</p><p>“I didn’t pass out,” Harry grumbled, escaping towards the kitchen. “Where is the basil?”</p><p>“Bottom left drawer,” he answered, humor in his voice.</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes. The fridge was organized based on color. Odd, but efficient. He found the bundle quickly and split it in half. His stomach rumbled in anticipation.</p><p>When he returned to the living room, Malfoy stood on the couch with his white socks against its gray cotton. He repositioned a sketch of the moon, tilting his head.</p><p>“Photography?”</p><p>“Tattoos,” Malfoy corrected, not taking his eyes off the board. He frowned and switched two newspaper articles. To his surprise, Harry recognized one as the Quibbler.</p><p>Interest sparked, he asked, “What is your masters on?”</p><p>As much he tried to ignore it, attention from Malfoy had always given him some sort of excitement. So when he turned his gaze from Harry to the board, a rush made its way through his chest. </p><p>“I am creating a comprehensive timeline on the history of magical and muggle tattoos. And comparing the two to determine influence, if there is any,” he explained, words tumbling out like he had said them a thousand times. “At the same time, they are letting me do an apprenticeship to get my license.”</p><p>Harry stared, realizing that Malfoy <em>drew </em>those beautiful, delicate things. He was suddenly overcome with the desire to know this new person Malfoy had become.</p><p>“…that’s actually really cool, Malfoy,” he said, wincing at the breathlessness in his voice. “And unexpected.”</p><p>His lips twitched, “What? You didn’t like my drawings at Hogwarts?”  </p><p>Harry snickered, remembering the image of cartoon portrait of himself being shocked by lightning over and over. It was terrible then, but so incredibly <em>funny </em>right now. “You are such an asshole.”</p><p>Malfoy blinked, “I know.”</p><p>While his voice was light, the hint of honestly in his words was enough to suck the humor of the situation. And Harry did not know what to say. He glanced around the room, desperate for a distraction.</p><p>He noticed leather chair next to the Floo. “What’s that?”</p><p>The boy turned his head. “Oh, my client chair. That’s where I do tattoos.”</p><p>“You do them at home!?”</p><p>“Sometimes,” Malfoy said, tone light again. “Depends on the customer.”</p><p>Harry titled his head.</p><p>“Wizards don’t really like coming here,” he said, eyes on the ground. Harry inwardly groaned as the awkwardness returned. He could handle the banter, but not this.</p><p>He looked at the herb in his hands, “Thanks for the basil, mate.”</p><p>He immediately regretted it. The word (“<em>mate</em>”) floated in the air awkwardly before plunging onto the floor. They stared at it, as it writhed around unhappily. His third attempt of avoiding awkwardness failed. Maybe, in their relationship, they had to pick between the two: hostile or awkward.</p><p>Harry coughed, “I didn’t expect you to give it up so easily.”</p><p>Malfoy looked at him, face carefully blank. “And what did expect, Potter?”</p><p>He told the truth. “A fight?”</p><p>The boy snorted, “My probation won’t let me, even if I wanted to.”</p><p>Harry remembered with a pang, apologetic for saying the wrong thing again. Something really bothered him about stumbling through this conversation, even if it was Malfoy.</p><p>“It’s okay, Potter,” Malfoy said, sensing his unease. “Since when have our interactions been smooth?”</p><p>Harry scrunched up his face. But the thing is they have been. No matter how much hate was between them, Harry had always felt like he had been saying the right thing. Now it was all wrong.</p><p><em>Because the hate is not there</em>.</p><p>“We hardly know each other anymore,” Malfoy continued, snapping Harry out of it. “You’d be surprised at the stuff I do now.</p><p>Harry had no doubt, but asked anyway, “Like what?”</p><p>Malfoy plopped himself onto the couch, tilting his head in thought, the curve of his pale neck in full view. “I make amazing banana bread.”</p><p>“Bullshit.” Harry couldn’t even picture him with an apron on.</p><p>Malfoy gasped. “Get out of my house!!”</p><p>Harry gave him a faint smile, ignoring the demand. “Don’t you want to hear about mine?”</p><p>The other man eyed him suspiciously. “What is it?”</p><p>“Ginny and I broke up.” He closed his eyes, not knowing what he was going to say until it was said. But he was proud of the way his voice didn’t shake, no matter how hard his heart pounded. In all honestly, it felt <em>good </em>to say it to someone who didn’t already know.</p><p>“I did not know that,” Malfoy said, his tone neutral. When Harry snuck a peek at his face, his lips were simply pursed.</p><p>“But I believe you,” he said, shooting Harry a look that was obviously in reference to the banana bread.</p><p>“I don’t see you in the kitchen at all,” Harry admitted, offering a teasing smile.</p><p>Malfoy dropped his jaw dramatically. “I give you my basil and in return, you just insul-,”</p><p>Something on the table caught Malfoy’s eye. He plopped onto the couch, grabbing it for closer inspection.</p><p>Just like that, he was gone. And the glint in his eyes meant he was not coming back. It was the same look Hermione had on when she dived into “the perfect book” for her research. She would spend <em>hours </em>in the same spot, quill tucked behind her ear, curls put into a large bun on the top of her head.</p><p>So Harry huffed a laugh to himself and cut his losses, making his way out of the apartment.</p><p>(The tomato basil omelet was everything that he craved. And he found himself using the fresh basil in dinners throughout the week.)</p><p> </p><p>The next weekend, he came back from his morning run to find a plant at his door. The smell confirmed it as basil. With a closer look, he noticed a folded piece of paper in the soil. There were large black letters written over small font text. It read:</p><p>
  <em>to teach a man to fish – dlm </em>
</p><p>He rolled his eyes at the dramatics of the note. But the fond grin formed on his face, regardless.</p><p>Harry placed the basil on his kitchen windowsill, where the sun would reach it. </p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>It was going to rain. That’s why he couldn’t run today. Nothing to do with the beers he had at the Burrow last night. He nuzzled into his pillow, sinking into the safety of sleep.</p><p>It was blissful until a small noise caught his ear and urged him out of the bed. Someone knocked, then banged at his door. While this could have been anyone, the insistent thwacks gave him a clue.</p><p>He groaned, rolling out of bed. The chill of his apartment stung at his bare torso, goosebumps raising across his chest. No matter how the cold nipped at him, his tiredness kept him from turning around and grabbing a shirt.</p><p>Harry opened the door, revealing a fully dressed Malfoy. He blinked sleepily at him, “Do you have a place to be this early? Or do you sleep in stuffy clothes?”</p><p>In a black turtleneck with a beige cardigan and chinos, he crossed his arms. “These are actually quite comfortable.”</p><p>Silver earrings dangled from his ears. They glinted in the morning light, winking at Harry.</p><p>Malfoy said something Harry managed to get the end of. “...flour? I wasn’t lying about the banana bread, you know.” </p><p>“What? …Yeah,” Harry replied, re-focusing. “I demand one slice as payment.”</p><p>“I didn’t get any omelet for the basil you stole,” Malfoy countered, not meeting Harry’s eyes. He walked into the apartment, keeping his gaze on the floor.</p><p>Harry grumbled, dizzy with sleep. “I did not <em>steal </em>it. You told me where it was!”  </p><p>“And you let me into your apartment,” he said, rooting around the pantry. There was a pink flush across the back of his neck. When he found the flour and turned around, Harry noted there was also a dusting of it along his cheeks.</p><p>“Mate,” Harry said, reflexively, positioning himself in front of Malfoy. “You have a sunburn.”</p><p>The week had been unusually full of sun. He gestured to his own cheeks. “You should wear sunscreen…do you know what that is?”</p><p>Malfoy stiffened.</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll do that,” he choked out before rushing out of the apartment.</p><p>Harry raised an eyebrow at the abrupt departure. He managed to mumble something about it being rude before the door slammed shut. He made gestures at the door before rolling back into bed.</p><p> </p><p>Up until Malfoy returned with banana bread and flour, Harry thought the interaction as a dream. He was at the stove when the man burst into his apartment.</p><p>They stared at each other, both frozen. Malfoy hovered for a moment before averting his gaze and stating, “Your door was unlocked.”</p><p>Harry ignored this, choosing to indulge in half-truths instead. “You had a sunburn in my dream.”</p><p>“You dream about me?” Malfoy quipped, raising an eyebrow. He did that annoying thing of closing off his face, making it impossible to read.</p><p>Harry stuck his tongue out at him.</p><p>Eying the banana bread, he gestured for Malfoy to sit down while he turned back to the stove. He prepared two omelets, eager to not owe Malfoy anything.</p><p>“Merlin, you have so many plants,” he muttered, looking around the apartment. That was accurate. After Hermione had given him one, Neville was inspired to give him another. And then Ron. And Ginny. And Luna. And the rest of his friends until his apartment was filled with little, green plants.</p><p>Harry chuckled, realizing that Malfoy had contributed to the trend.</p><p>“I just like taking care of things,” Harry explained, because it was true.</p><p>Malfoy gave him a weird look, but it vanished as Harry placed an omelet in front of him. He accepted the fork and knife he was given and took a bite. Harry watched for his reaction.</p><p>Sensing his gaze, Malfoy scowled at him, which would have been more imitating if his cheeks weren’t puffed out from food. He looked like a grouchy rodent. <em>Or a ferret. </em></p><p>Despite the expression, his eyes were lit, the same way they lit up when he raced for the Snitch. Harry felt a burst of pride in his chest, affirming the taste of his omelets. </p><p>The kitchen filled with sounds of silverware clinking against ceramic plates. They didn’t talk much, but Malfoy’s presence was strangely a comfort. He was a very expressive eater. Harry enjoyed this – if he could not decipher his expressions during conversations, at least he could tell if Malfoy liked a meal.</p><p>The man finished before Harry, looking up at him. He offered a crooked grin, “It was okay.”</p><p><em>Git.</em> “You’re welcome.”</p><p>“Don’t need it, thanks,” he said, pointing at the banana bread. “You’re going to enjoy that.”</p><p>He smiled smugly before heading out. Harry stared after him and shook his head. <em>Wanker</em>.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Somewhere from his room, his phone rang. It had to be Ron, the only person he knew that actively used a Muggle phone. He dug through his bedsheets to find it.</p><p>“Harry!”</p><p>“Hey, how are you feeling?” He wandered back into the kitchen and unwrapped the banana bread.</p><p>As Ron described his hangover, Harry stabbed his fork into it, determined not to enjoy it. But, his taste buds betrayed him. The bread melted in his mouth, a complementary combination of sweet and rich. And there were chocolate chips!</p><p>He let out a quiet moan, “Fucking Malfoy.”</p><p>“What?!” Ron screamed. In the background, dishes crashed together.  </p><p>“Um, that wasn’t-,” Harry dropped the fork, his ears suddenly very warm.</p><p>“If you’re…erm…busy,” Ron coughed. “…‘Mione mentioned something about this but…I didn’t think-”</p><p>Harry found his voice. “No! No, I am not!! Doing nothing at all!”</p><p>There was only silence on the other line.</p><p>“Ron, I am not,” Harry repeated, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am just eating. Please continue.”</p><p>“…If you’re sure, mate.”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>“I have a-”</p><p>“Do you want to-”</p><p>Sometimes, they did this. Their words knocked into each other, rhythms off. Conversations felt a bit like hands clasping together without the fingers aligned properly. Not wrong, just off.</p><p>“You go first,” Harry said.</p><p>They were on Malfoy’s massive balcony, moving the seedlings outdoors. He was determined to finish today and had enlisted Harry’s help.</p><p>He agreed easily. Now that it had warmed up, being outside was more of a treat than a chore. The sunlight spilled onto the balcony like golden paint, the air was still a bit damp from dawn and from this view, their part of the city looked quite nice.</p><p>“I have a theory,” Malfoy said, uprooting a stubborn tomato plant. “About why we have so many plants.”  </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he said, the sun shining in his hair. “My reason is different than yours.”</p><p>“You don’t like taking care of things?” He aimed the hose towards the newly planted on the ground.</p><p>“No, I think that you take care of things because you like it.” His voice was strangely soft, as if speaking more to himself than Harry. “I do it because I want to <em>prove</em> that I can.”</p><p>Harry heard the determined edge to his words, but also got the impression that Malfoy was quite sad. He bit his lip, wanting to comfort the proud boy, but not knowing the words to make it better.</p><p>Behind him, Malfoy let out a long sigh followed by a thump. He looked over to find him sitting on the concrete, taking off his gloves. Smudges of dirt sat on his right cheek.</p><p>“I’m tired now.” He waved lazily at Harry, “You do the rest.”</p><p>Harry looked at the hose in his hand and then, back at Malfoy. They locked eyes, coming to the same realization.</p><p>Malfoy scrambled to his feet (“Don’t you <em>dare</em>”), but Harry was quicker, had <em>always</em> been quicker.  </p><p>He aimed the hose at Malfoy, squeezing the handle for added pressure. A laugh ripped through Harry as the water hit the bridge of his nose. His face scrunched up, making him look incredibly young. He laughed harder, as Malfoy launched up and marched through the onslaught of water.</p><p>Before he could react, Malfoy was there – quick hands twisting the hose into Harry’s face, spraying his glasses. But even with water droplets skewing his vision, Harry fought. They grappled for control. The furious shoves and elbow jabs sent the hose into the air, several feet away. It landed on the ground, casting short-lived rainbows left and right.</p><p>Fists clenched Harry’s collar, the tips of his knuckles brushing at the sensitive skin of his neck, Malfoy glared him. “Truce?”</p><p>Breathless, he nodded.</p><p>For a beat, Harry let himself look at Malfoy. From this distance, he could count the freckles on his cheeks. His blond hair turned dark from the water, flat on the sides of his head and stuck up at other angles. Various wet spots covered his rumpled jumper. A small part of Harry liked Malfoy a little messed up.</p><p>The boy broke eye contact, suddenly looking at the sky. He held out a hand, “Fuck.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>But then, he felt it.</p><p>Somehow, during their scuffle, the sky had filled with black clouds. There was a flash of lighting, a clap of thunder and finally, it poured. If they weren’t drenched before, they were now.</p><p>Malfoy let go of him and headed towards the sliding door. He pulled at it, but was met with resistance. “Potter, where is the key?”</p><p>Harry tried to recall the last time he had seen it, but couldn’t. He shrugged at Malfoy, whose nose was pressed up against the glass, trying to peer into the apartment. Harry followed his gaze and sure enough, the key and their wands sat patiently on the living room table.</p><p> </p><p>They sat under the awning, watching the plants dance happily in the downpour. The same could not be said about the planters. Harry shivered. Along with the rain, the temperature dropped. He tried not to lean into the warmth of Malfoy’s shoulder provided.</p><p>Malfoy read the note his Patronus came back with. He couldn’t understand how Malfoy had been able to cast a <em>Patronus</em> wandlessly, but not an <em>Alohomora</em>. (“It wouldn’t work anyway,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It’s called security, Potter.”)</p><p>The man sighed, “Blaise will be here in an hour.”</p><p>“An hour? Where is he?”</p><p>“He’s busy,” Malfoy mumbled, petting the white peacock. “And the only other one with access is Pansy, who is in Tokyo.”</p><p>“What is Parkinson doing in Tokyo?”</p><p>“Trip to the homeland.”</p><p>“What!?”</p><p>“Yeah…she is half-Japanese,” Malfoy quirked an eyebrow at the Harry’s shocked face. “That means that her father is…”</p><p>“I know what it means, Malfoy!” Harry cried. “I’m just surprised.”  </p><p>“Why? You’re half Asian.”  </p><p>“I’m surprised that you know what <em>race</em> is,” Harry replied. “Wizards never really discuss it.”  </p><p>A faint smile appeared on Malfoy’s face, “Ah, but most of the Wizarding World has not pulled several all-nighters with Granger, whose entire project is comparing radical movements in the Magic and Muggle world.”  </p><p>Harry’s lips twitched. It was surprisingly easy to see Hermione and Malfoy, surrounded by books and tea mugs, comparing theories. Their research must have overlapped at one point; Harry imagined tattoos were radical movements within themselves.</p><p>The rain beat against the concrete of the balcony. A slight breeze sprayed a drizzle of raindrops on Harry’s face. He looked at the city below. It was still beautiful view – the vast expanse of clouds shrouding the city in mist and rain. It would have brought a sense of calm, Harry thinks, if he weren’t already soaked.</p><p>With stunning clarity, he was hit with where he was and who he was with.</p><p>“So…,” Harry began, unexpectedly hesitant. “Why are you here? Living like a Muggle, planting herbs and making banana bread instead of…”</p><p>“Instead of gathering a Dark Army?” he asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>Guilt stabbed at Harry, wanting to take it back. They had an easy time like this, not asking hard questions and pretending things it could be like that forever. “I didn’t mean…”</p><p>The silence continued for so long it almost suffocated Harry. Malfoy stared hard at the ground.</p><p>Finally, he sighed. “After the whole…,” He gestured vaguely to Harry. “My father went to Azkaban and kept sending these cryptic letters to me and my mother and I just…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want to do it anymore. So, when Pans mentioned CLASS, I applied.”</p><p>Harry thought of Parkinson’s job. He wasn’t sure what exactly she did, but it involved lots of interviews, which is why she frequented Ginny’s world. He realized now that she probably did lots of research too, which meant that she was in Hermione’s world. Strangely, this fact pleased him.</p><p>Malfoy continued, staring out towards the rain. “And the world is so much bigger than Hogwarts, you know?”</p><p>For some reason, Harry flushed. “And the non-magic part?”</p><p>“I wasn’t allowed to do magic for a while,” he said, hands fidgeting. “And I guess I got used to it.”</p><p>
  <em>I want to prove that I can. </em>
</p><p>Maybe Harry understood Malfoy’s sadness, after all.</p><p>“I think I get it,” Harry bit the inside of his cheek. “Everyone expected me to be Auror, doing what I did, for the rest of my life.”</p><p>“But you didn’t,” Malfoy said, a strange glint in his eyes. Harry almost mistook it for pride.</p><p>“But I didn’t,” he confirmed. “And I love what I do, Skeeter’s opinion be damned.”</p><p>The Foundation was Harry’s pride and joy. It was a center for Muggleborns and Half-Bloods that provided resources for the kids and parents instead of just being thrust in Magical society, like Harry was. (He didn’t even know how to get onto the platform!) The fact that these resources hadn’t existed before reminded Harry of how flawed Magical society was, even beyond Voldemort.</p><p>“Why something at Hogwarts?”</p><p>Their shoulders brushed as Harry shifted to kick the pebble. It was true, Harry had considered it. But after his breakup with Ginny, the spotlight was too much to bear.</p><p>“Like you said, the world bigger than Hogwarts.”</p><p>Malfoy looked him, eyes twinkling, “Yeah, it is.”</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>Harry knocked at Malfoy’s apartment, ready for the pancakes he was promised. Malfoy answered the door with his hair stuck up and pajama shirt unbuttoned. Two love bites prominent on his right collarbone. Based on their sheen, they were fresh.</p><p>He looked at Harry, out of breath, “I forgot. Give me a second.”</p><p>It’s funny that Malfoy had forgotten and then, remembered what they were doing. Because when a shirtless man – lips dark from bruises, eyes dazed – emerged from his room, Harry forgot everything.</p><p>The man looked at him, sensing his gaze, “Sorry, mate. I’ll be out in a second.” <em>Mate</em>.</p><p>Harry nodded numbly, not trusting the words that would tumble out of his mouth, and averted his gaze. He was not sure how to control his racing heart, a common reaction to Malfoy. But never like this – heat pooled to his stomach, goosebumps broke out on his arms, a wild jealousy of being <em>seen,</em> just once.</p><p>Soft conversation floated from the room to Harry. He tried to block it out, the sweet tones of Malfoy’s voice, the fact that he was capable of that. The man came out again, brilliantly dressed (because of course, that is Malfoy’s type), and nodded at Harry before disappearing into the elevator. Harry hovered in the doorway, suddenly unsure of where he belonged, as if he ever knew.</p><p>When he looked up again, Malfoy was there – shutting the door to his room and pulling Harry into his apartment. The love bites were covered, and Harry felt like he could breathe again. But he doubted he could forget the image of them, burned in his mind with a soft hiss.</p><p>Malfoy looked at him, jaw set. Harry recognized that look – reminded him of bathroom mirrors, tears and lots of blood – and realized that Malfoy was <em>afraid</em>. As if Harry would ever dismiss him for <em>this</em>.</p><p>Harry nodded once, then twice, making sure their gazes were locked. This seemed to calm the storm going on in Malfoy, his shoulders relaxing. They headed to the kitchen.</p><p><em>Breakfast, </em>Harry remembered, still pretending he needed a reason to come over.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, this is it.”</p><p>Harry knew the space was small, but it felt even smaller as he sat across from Malfoy.</p><p>“This hardly counts as a balcony,” Malfoy replied. They had just climbed out from the bedroom window, onto the small space. It was surrounded by neighboring apartments jutting out further than Harry’s.</p><p>“I’m not sure what else to call it.”  </p><p>“A glorified windowsill?”</p><p>“But it’s not part of the window.”</p><p>“Well, it is not a balcony. Those have railings.”</p><p>“Not all balconies are fancy as yours,” Harry countered.</p><p>Since that day, things were the same, but felt different to Harry. It bothered him by how much he thought about it. Harry had meant it then; he didn’t have any problems with Malfoy being gay or bi or anything that involved kissing boys. But it stirred up his feelings, and ran through his head daily. And Harry had no idea why.</p><p>“It’s whole different view,” Malfoy said, mouth slightly open as he stared at the moving people below.</p><p>Maybe that was it. Harry stared at the boy, the sharp angles of his face softened by his large gray jumper. The tips of his fingers peaked out from the holes in the sleeves and his hair curled at the ends. “Yeah, it is.”</p><p>Malfoy didn’t respond, fists clenched and unclenched.</p><p>“You’re scared of heights?” Harry asked.</p><p>Two red splotches appeared on Malfoy’s cheekbones.</p><p>“We’ve spent every warm morning on your balcony.”</p><p>“Yes, but balconies have <em>railings</em>,” he huffed. “And we are so much closer to the ground here.”</p><p>He made himself smaller, hugging his legs close and burrowing into the jumper. But he didn’t request to go back inside.</p><p>A loud bang came from nearby construction. Malfoy squawked and pressed himself further against the wall. “Merlin’s <em>sake</em>! Why in Circe, Merlin and Dumbledore’s name do you like it here?”</p><p>Harry shrugged. He knew that Malfoy was only trying to get a rise out of him, but he considered it seriously.</p><p>“It kind of reminds me of my cupboard, a small space that used to be home,” he explained, ignoring the burning of his ears. “But there is no roof or darkness here and the sky goes on forever. It’s a small space, but free.”</p><p>“Cupboard?” The question uttered so soft Harry almost doesn’t hear him.</p><p>He took a couple of breaths before answering. He hadn’t meant to do that, to keep doing that. But with Malfoy, it happened again and again. He figured out how to pry Harry apart until all his secrets were gone – <em>given</em> away.</p><p>“Yeah.” He looked at the sky, a bright blue. “I grew up with very bad people. And I think a lot of habits from before got stuck to me – liking small spaces, cooking when I don’t have to…”</p><p>Like a key, something unfurled Malfoy. He stretched out his long legs, trapping Harry, one hand still braced on the wall. </p><p>“That may be true,” he replied. Harry flinched.</p><p>“But,” he added, quickly, softer this time. “But you are <em>more</em> than what they made you.”</p><p>He said this slowly, letting the words sink in Harry’s consciousness.</p><p>In some way, maybe the same way he poured all the secrets out of him, Malfoy always knew the words. The words that went down like honey, warmed his insides and slowed the rapid beating of his heart.   </p><p>At first, he thought it was because Malfoy was good at words. Always writing and reading and re-writing. But now, he had a new theory: he was just good with Harry, saw him in the way he longed to be seen.</p><p>And that realization lit a fire in his heart – one he wasn’t sure he wanted to douse, didn’t know if he could. He adjusted his glasses, “Thank you.”</p><p>Malfoy gave him a look then, that weird look again.</p><p>And like before, it disappeared, and he nodded. “Okay, can we <em>please </em>go inside now?”</p><p>That startled a laugh out of Harry, “You win.”</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>The months slipped in and out of his grasp and before Harry knew it, spring had become summer. The humidity made his hair stand tiredly. It also made the pipes leak. And parts of the wall to fall off.</p><p>When he told Malfoy about it, he gave him a blank stare and shook his head. He left the kitchen and returned with a small, silver key.</p><p>“It works for the spare room and the front door. Tomorrow, I’ll spell the Floo to give you access.” He slid the key towards Harry, “Don’t lose it.”</p><p>And proceeded to shake his head at every single thing Harry said after that. He didn’t want to be a burden, it was really okay, it’s only the bathroom wall that was falling out, he couldn’t make him do that.</p><p>“If you eat all my basil, I will kill you,” Malfoy concluded, before disappearing into his room with a sketchbook and pencil.</p><p>Harry was left at the table, flabbergasted at the aggressive kindness he had been shown. <em>He’s crazy</em>. <em>I am going to live with a crazy person. </em>He turned the key over in his hands.</p><p>He reasoned that it was temporary. And made sense. Because at this point, there was no denying that they were friends. Two love bites appeared in his mind. He crushed the bread in his hand. <em>And it won’t be weird.</em></p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>Neighbors to roommates. The transition was easy, comfortable even. Malfoy was a good housemate – he washed the dishes, baked desserts and was never particularly loud. Mostly, he sat around reading and sketching. To Harry’s surprise, he even limited the mess to his bedroom and the client chair in the living room.</p><p>“It’s for the plants,” he said, when Harry mentioned it, because of course it was. He appreciated the article-free bathroom, regardless. </p><p>He saw Malfoy on the weekdays now. Only on that first Monday, he realized that they only hung out on the weekends. But now, Harry got to witness a whole new side of the man.</p><p>Somehow, he was even more put-together on the weekdays. Blazers, three-piece suits, trousers that fit stupidly well. His hair was combed in a way that reminded Harry of Hogwarts.</p><p>He had a different smile now, though. Curls at the end of his hair. A gentle touch, soft enough to weave masterpieces onto paper. Into skin. He wore reading glasses and snorted at dumb jokes with the same, sharp tongue. And understood Harry in the ways he wanted to be understood. He didn’t even do magic.</p><p>Hogwarts Malfoy could never compare.</p><p>That Malfoy never made Harry feel this impossible, embarrassing <em>heat</em> in the pit of his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Potter,” the man across from him asked. “Dos this Hogwarts have cell service?”</p><p>Harry smiled, remembering the in-depth talk he and Hermione had with McGonagall. “Yes, they installed a new tower last year.”</p><p>It was Friday. And he was in the last meeting of the day. He had scheduled all parents’ meetings on one day, in hopes that it would somehow be better. But each dragged longer than the last.</p><p>The parent in his office now reminded him a bit of Vernon Dursley with his large mustache and discriminatory beliefs about magic. It put him on edge. He was even more so with the three cups of coffee he downed during the meeting. And he <em>really </em>needed to go to the bathroom. Around the third hour, he managed to convince the father to let his daughter enroll in a Magical school, even if it wasn’t Hogwarts.</p><p>He sent him off with pamphlets of the other schools and shut the door. His bladder hurt. Harry waved to everyone in the office and headed towards the Floo. With the powder in his hand, he remembered, last second, to go to Malfoy’s apartment. Tumbling into the apartment, he made a beeline to the bathroom and swung the door open.</p><p>And froze.</p><p>Malfoy was in there, fresh out of the shower – turned away, towel around his waist, muscles stretching across his shoulders. Bladder forgotten, Harry could not look away.</p><p>A tattoo covered most of his back – the ocean. The shoreline started mid-back, a huge moon setting above it, textured and glowing. Its waves fell and rose, creating beautiful ripples. Water droplets clung to his pale skin.</p><p>The man turned (the waves moving with him) and spotted him, eyes wide. Every part of Harry was on fire. His eyes followed the water drop that rolled down the curve of his chest, abs and dipped beneath his towel. The twist of his body showing off the shape of his hipbones.</p><p>But then, he noticed it on his left forearm. “Is that-?”</p><p>Malfoy leapt into action, shoving Harry out of the room.</p><p>“Don’t you know how to knock?” he hissed, voice raw.</p><p>Harry leaned against the door, shirt wet from where Malfoy touched him. He exhaled, letting go of a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.</p><p>Malfoy had taken the Dark Mark, but that wasn’t what Harry was going to ask. He wanted to ask about the curling rope of scar tissue across his chest.</p><p>He bit his lip, “Did I do that?”</p><p>The silence from the other end of the door was enough of an answer.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>July was ending. His birthday was coming up, planned to be a joint celebration with Neville. Everyone and their friends were invited.</p><p>Harry brought it up to Malfoy during lunch.</p><p>Malfoy joked, “Pansy is going. You got already your token Slytherin.”</p><p>He rolled his eyes, “I don’t want a token Slytherin, I want you.”</p><p>Only when it was said out loud, he heard how it sounded. He took a large bite of his sandwich. “It’s just…the first time I’ll be seeing Ginny since the breakup.”</p><p>“You can handle Ginevra, Potter.” Malfoy frowned, looking away. “I have an appointment. I’ll try to make it, though.”</p><p>Harry nodded, relieved, willing for the moment to pass.</p><p> </p><p>As he expected, the party was fun. He was 22. Never thought he would make it this far. The loneliness stayed away tonight, and he was grateful for it.</p><p>Their friendship circle had grown within the last few years, surprised at the even amounts of new and old faces. Old faces included Slytherins now, Harry thought, noting the presence of Parkinson and Zabini. He wondered if the silent ban was lifted once he started talking to Malfoy, wondered how much Hermione knew.</p><p>They greeted him politely, which was all Harry expected. Aside from them and a few new faces, he was greeted with warmth and excitement. So much to the point where Harry felt silly for forgetting how loved he was.</p><p>Even talking to Ginny felt good. She found him on the way to the bar, and they caught up like old friends. She was still beautiful, but his heart didn’t hurt at the sight of her anymore. Before she left to greet Luna, Ginny pulled him into a hug and whispered, “I’m so glad we can still be friends.”</p><p>Tears stung at his eyes, “Me too.”</p><p>They stayed there for a little longer, remembering their magic. Ginny pulled away first, her eyes shining. Harry smiled.</p><p> </p><p>When Dean mentioned a nearby club, everyone was excited. Harry agreed easily, not wanting the night to end yet.</p><p>“It’s barely begun!” Ron beamed, throwing an arm across Harry’s shoulders. His happiness was infectious.  </p><p>“Did I say that out loud?” Harry whispered, smiling back at Ron.</p><p>Ron just laughed and stole the beer in his hands. “Happy Birthday, mate!”</p><p>The place they ended up – Harry couldn’t even remember the name now – was full of flashing lights and bodies. Easy to get lost in. He danced lazily in a semicircle with Ron and Hermione for the longest time. His cheeks were sore from laughter as he was reminded of why Hermione didn’t dance. (Not that Harry should be talking.)</p><p>He got separated from them and found Dean and Seamus, who were admittedly better dancers. The crowd swallowed them up and he was alone again. He swayed left and right to vibrations of the club, absolutely giddy that loneliness hadn’t shown up. Instead, he just belonged, belonged, belonged.</p><p>Drenched in sweat, he made his way to the bar to get a drink. No longer in the heat of the people, he wondered if Malfoy ever turned up.</p><p>And like magic (ha ha), a glint of light caught his attention. It was Malfoy, wearing those silver earrings again, moving through the crowd with purpose. He looked <em>good </em>with the black mesh top and tight black jeans.</p><p>A girl jumped his arms. From the dark red nails and even darker lipstick, Harry guessed it was Parkinson. She gave him a lazy grin as he set her back down and they started to dance. Their bodies melted together like they meant to. They were easy, practiced motions – the rotation of his hips against hers. When they laughed, Malfoy’s teeth peeked out from his lips. Harry’s heart skipped a beat.</p><p>Feeling a bit guilty for watching them, he downed his drink and ordered a new one. The heat in the club made his throat dry. The bartender set down the new glass with a wink.</p><p>He snuck another glance at the two, looking over his glass. Parkinson’s back was pressed up against Malfoy’s chest. She reached behind her to grab his shoulder and bring them closer.</p><p>Harry bit his hand, focusing on the grip.</p><p>A man broke away from the background bodies, slotting himself against Malfoy’s back. He had a silver cross necklace that matched Malfoy’s earrings. Malfoy noticed, giving him a sultry smirk.</p><p>He glanced at Pansy, who nodded once, and pulled the man closer, giving him access to the long tilt of his neck. It was the three of them, moving to the beat of the music, tight against each other. Harry couldn’t look away.</p><p>When the beat switched, Pansy broke away. And it was only Malfoy and the stranger. Harry was reminded of the two love bites. His heart pounded in his ears.</p><p>Beside him, someone grabbed the glass out of his hand. He turned to Parkinson, her brow drenched in sweat, eyes straight ahead. She took a sip of the drink, red lipstick staining the glass, “Aren’t they hot?”</p><p>“What?” Harry stammered, feeling caught. “I-I wasn’t looking.”</p><p>Parkinson raised an eyebrow. “Sure, you weren’t.”</p><p>As if summoned by her words, Malfoy looked over at him. Even from here, Harry could see his blown. It sent shivers through his body.</p><p>He waved, as if there wasn’t a stranger grinding against his ass. Harry couldn’t move.</p><p>Parkinson waved back for the both of them.</p><p> </p><p>Harry was legless, feeling worn in more ways than one. He wasn’t sure how he got home, but found relief from cold sheets against his bare skin. There were two, maybe three people, talking outside his room. One was Hermione. He laid there, trying to listen.</p><p>“He is..”</p><p>“Yeah, definitely...”</p><p>But the words faded in and out of comprehension.</p><p>At one point, the Floo went off, and then, the shower.</p><p>Harry was not quite awake, but not asleep. Filled with restlessness, he listened to the sound. It reminded him of the beach, and then, of the lapping waves on the freckled expanse of Malfoy’s back. Two love bites contrasted against a pale collarbone. He bit his hand, feeling heat pool between his legs.</p><p>In the haze of his drunkenness, he let himself want it. His fingers dipped beneath the band of his boxers. He jumped at his own touch, clutching at the sheets. Harry thought of the hand, tight over Malfoy’s shoulder. In that moment, he wanted it to his hand. His lips creating those two love bites. Slowly, he grasped the base of his cock, feeling it throb. Pleasure rushing through his body.</p><p>Tightness increased with each stroke. He wondered how it would sound, how <em>he </em>would sound. Two love bites, a grip over those shoulders, close enough to count the freckles.</p><p>Harry <em>wanted </em>it.</p><p> </p><p>He woke with a start. The intensity of the hangover almost crushed him. He turned his head to the side, finding a stack of presents leaned up against the wall and smiled. It was a good birthday. But as he remembered more of the night, his heart began to pound.</p><p>Harry rolled out of bed, awakening nausea from the night before. A crumbled t-shirt was on the ground. He picked it up and unraveled it, visceral proof of what he did last night. He felt at his boxers and groaned.</p><p>He liked boys, the realization sinking low into his gut. The image of silver earrings flashed in his head, but he ignored it. For now, this was all he could handle.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>Draco had a nasty headache the whole day. It started as something small and simply irritating, but gradually grew into a monstrous bitch. By the time he was headed home, he considered seeing a Healer and checking for brain cancer.</p><p>“You don’t have brain cancer, Malfoy,” Granger said, as they both waited for the Floo. “Your body is probably mad at you had <em>three </em>all-nighters last week.”</p><p>Draco did not like what she was implying. “I don’t get sick. Being sick is for children.”</p><p>“Is that so?” she replied, giving him a look. “Then, you’re definitely sick.”</p><p>She stole his place in line and threw down the powder with a wink.</p><p>He scrunched his nose at her. Granger was rarely wrong, but this was definitely one of those times. His body could handle a couple of all-nighters. His insomnia sure thought so.</p><p>Entering the Floo was smooth, but exiting was the problem. It threw off his momentum, sending him into the client chair. With his face smooshed against the leather, he spotted Potter looking at him from the kitchen table. He had been in the middle of laying out two plates and a bowl of tacos. The sight made his chest warm.  </p><p>“Are you okay?”  </p><p>Malfoy nodded, pushing himself up from the chair. “The Floo is bullying me.”</p><p>Potter smiled, “No one can bully you.”</p><p>He was wrong about that. The ground lurched beneath him. He crashed to the ground, a burst of pain stinging his cheek. Somewhere in the background, dishes clashed together. When he opened his eyes again, Potter was above him, the back of his hand against his forehead. “Malfoy, you’re burning up.”  </p><p>He said something about being fine and how he could handle it, but it didn’t come out right. His voice more hushed and frayed than he intended.</p><p>“Sure, that’s why you’re wearing five cardigans.” Was that right? He remembered putting one on, but hardly five.</p><p>“Just lean against me, okay?”</p><p>Draco barely had time to nod before Potter slipped an arm under his shoulders, pushing them both up. Now upright, he realized how much his body <em>ached. </em>Every movement hurt.</p><p>They trudged to his bedroom, where Harry flopped Draco onto his bed.</p><p>“Put out your arms,” he commanded. And Draco did so, feeling like a small child when Potter began to take off the cardigans. He left the last one on and disappeared. It was sweet gesture really, leaving his Dark Mark covered, even when they both knew it was there.</p><p>Goosebumps broke out along his shoulders. “Potter, I’m cold,” he whined, grasping at the sheets for solace. He had forgotten how <em>cold </em>fevers could be.</p><p>The boy returned with a bundle of clothing in his hands. He wrapped Draco into the blankets, arranging his limbs accordingly. He probably looked like that Mexican dish Muggles were always going on about, but he was much warmer.</p><p>“Change into these and rest while I make some soup, okay?” he said, placing the clothes on Draco’s chest.</p><p>He raised an eyebrow, even if it hurt. “You like playing Nurse as much as you like Hero?”</p><p>Potter grinned, “Can’t have my landlord dying on me.”</p><p> </p><p>When Potter left the room, Draco laid there in agony. He hadn’t been this sick since he was seven and his mother had been there to sing him to sleep, distracting him from the pain of his limbs. She wasn’t here anymore, though. She was off in France living the life she deserved to live.</p><p>He managed to slip out of his day clothes and into the ones Potter gave him. They were big, the waist nearly falling off, but Draco relished in the warmth. He hugged a spare pillow, willing the shivers to go away.</p><p>At some point, he managed to fall asleep.</p><p>Because Potter was there, shaking him awake. A curl found its way onto his forehead. Draco was struck with a strange desire to put it back in place, but then Potter was saying something.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Soup’s ready.”</p><p>“I don’t want to get up,” he said, clinging to the pillow further. “I’m not hungry.”</p><p>“That’s because you are sick,” Potter replied, tugging the pillow away.</p><p>Draco could have cursed the boy for that, but knew he was right.</p><p>Painstakingly, he made the long journey from his room the kitchen and sat at the table, where everything felt too bright. But the kitchen smelled delicious.</p><p>A red bowl was placed in front of him. His tired mind woke up for a moment, “What is this?”</p><p>“Chicken coconut curry.”</p><p>“It smells good,” Draco said. He placed it in his mouth and <em>moaned,</em> silently thanking Potter for making most of the meals. “It <em>tastes </em>good.”</p><p>Beside him, Potter had on an amused smile. “You’re welcome, Malfoy.”</p><p>He looked Potter, sitting there, prettier than a picture. He dressed like an old man, which shouldn’t have been as charming as it was – sweaters, elbow patches and worn jeans. They were always suspiciously filled with holes. But instead of frumpy, it made him look like everyone’s best friend. He smiled a lot too, genuine smiles that lit up his eyes. The world was unfair in so many ways.</p><p>When he finished the meal, Potter held out his palm. In it, two small capsules. Muggle medicine. Draco sank his chair, “Can’t I just take a potion? I hate those things.”</p><p>He knew there was a whine in his voice, but Potter already knew the worst of him. He pouted, trying to look as sick and sad as he felt.</p><p>Eventually, Potter sighed, “Okay, just go to bed. If you’re not feeling better by the morning, you should take these.” He collapsed them back into his palm. “I’ll ask Hermione if she has any Sleeping Draught or Pepper-Up’s for the morning.”</p><p>He stood to go to the Floo, but Draco grabbed at his arm, “Don’t tell Granger I’m sick.”</p><p>Potter squinted at him, in a way that said he was definitely going to tell her. Draco hated him. Granger was never going to let him forget.</p><p> </p><p>When he was finally in bed alone, he had nothing to focus on but the pain. The fever had finally given into heat, but Draco still found himself shivering. He surrounded himself with pillows and burrowed into his clothing the best he could. Potter’s scent was all around him, the chamomile smell lulling him to sleep.</p><p>He forgot how terrible fever dreams could be.</p><p>The first time he woke up, he was covered in sweat, his mouth dry. There was a glass of water and Sleeping Draught on his bedside table. And in that moment, he was so glad he basically forced Potter to be his roommate. He downed the glass of water, then the draught and was out before his head hit the pillow.</p><p> </p><p>He was in the Manner again. Voldemort seared the Dark Mark on his arm, the burns ripping through every layer of his skin. He screamed at him to stop, but no one in the room seemed to hear him. Or see him. They continued to talk at the table, turned away from him. His mom wasn’t there, and his Dad held a wand to his throat. “Don’t you care about us?”</p><p>The scene shifted. The wand was in his hand this time, pointed at Dumbledore’s throat. His eyes were already dull and lifeless, but he still spoke. “You did this to me.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice shaking. The wizard faded into dust. Draco gasped at the fragments, trying to shove them together again, but he was gone. And so was the wand. But his hands were still outstretched.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” said another voice. He turned around. It was Potter, dressed in a patchy sweater instead of the Hogwarts robe. They were in the bathroom, mirrors everywhere. Draco’s chest felt wet. He looked down to find the blood coming out of his chest. Potter looked at him, green eyes cold, “Just kidding. Why would anyone want to be your friend?”</p><p> </p><p>The second time he woke up, Draco couldn’t breathe. His breaths came out ragged and harsh, but did nothing to quell the pain in his chest. Potter was there for some reason, hands on his shoulders.</p><p>“I-I can’t…I can’t,” he tried to say through gasps, but nothing came out. He clawed at his chest blindly.</p><p>Potter’s hands moved from his shoulders to Draco’s hands, dragging them away from his chest. “Hey, can you tell me five things are that are white in this room?”</p><p>He tilted their heads together, so Draco could only see the green of his eyes.</p><p>“Are you crazy? I’m telling you I can’t br-"</p><p>“Just try it,” he said, completely serious. If Draco died, it would be on Potter.</p><p>He searched around the room. “The bed sheets, the mirror, my hands, the rug, my sweater in the closet,” he said, through gasps.</p><p>“And four things you hear?”</p><p>On and on, Harry asked questions until Draco’s breathing evened out, his heart slowing to a normal pace.</p><p>Finally, he exhaled slowly. The cold of Potter’s forehead against his felt good. He closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the green anymore.</p><p>“You were having a panic attack,” Potter whispered.</p><p>Draco leaned back, collapsing against the headboard, exhausted. He huffed out, “Isn’t Sleeping Draught supposed to give you <em>dreamless </em>sleep?”</p><p>Potter shrugged helplessly, rubbing at the red mark on his forehead. On his scar. Draco suddenly felt like he crossed a very intimate line.  </p><p>Draco rubbed at his face. It was wet with tears and his throat was so dry it hurt. He felt around the bedside table for the glass of water and drank from it.</p><p>Potter moved slowly, positioning himself next to Draco, body over the comforter.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Draco asked, turning his head to look at him, too tired to be embarrassed at their proximity.</p><p>Potter took a breath and reached out. His hand was rough with calluses, but solid on top of Draco’s. Every hair on his body stood up. Before he could repeat his question, Potter spoke again.</p><p>“I-I’m not really good with words…” <em>Not like you.</em> “…so we don’t have to talk about what you were dreaming about. But I can sit here if you don’t want to be alone.”</p><p>Draco felt like he was in Hogwarts all over again, his heart preening at every ounce of attention Potter gave him, good or bad. He knew that this wasn’t the best decision to make, but it felt good.</p><p><em>Fuck it. </em>Draco scooted so that he was lying down again. He grasped Potter’s wrist, smooshing his face into the blankets. The chamomile scent was everywhere now. And his hand was warm and willing to intertwine with Draco’s.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>He woke up slowly. The earliest rays of sun peeked through the space between his curtains. Soft pinks and blues enveloped the room. He felt a hand curled in his hair. It was sweaty because Draco was sweaty. But the heat and shivers were gone, and he felt like he could breathe again.</p><p>His gaze followed the hand up to the owner. A trial of drool spilled out the corner of his mouth. It was still dark, but the outline of his profile against the morning light shouldn’t have been as beautiful as it was.</p><p>It wasn’t a dream.</p><p>He exhaled. And for a moment, he let himself feel it, leaning into the hand in his hair. The feeling washed over him and soaked into his body, snitching something warm and solid in his chest. It was beautiful, liberating even, to pretend that he was loved by Harry Potter.</p><p>But then the ray of sun moved on and he tucked the feeling away. No matter how much they got on now, he wasn’t detached from reality enough to think it could ever happen.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>They were smoking up on his makeshift balcony.</p><p>Well, Malfoy is smoking, exhaling large puffs every now and again. It seemed to ease his fear of heights since his hands no longer clutched at imaginary handholds of the wall. He didn’t even need the wall anymore. They both faced the skyline, rather than each other – shoulders squished together instead of knees. It was better this way, not having to meet Malfoy’s eyes.</p><p>Harry was on his fourth beer; Malfoy stopped at two and started smoking.</p><p>His stomach felt warm, collateral damage of his acid and alcohol. Maybe it was because of this. Maybe it was because of the soft gaze Malfoy had on as he stared at the city below them. Maybe it was because their hands brushed every so often, sending electricity to something more than just Harry’s body.</p><p>“How did you know?”</p><p>Malfoy tilted his head onto his shoulder, peering at Harry as he put out the cigarette. The bright red morphing into a dull orange and finally disappearing. “…know what?”</p><p>He asked this, knowing what Harry meant, but he wanted to hear it anyway. Malfoy did this a lot, always needed vocal confirmation.</p><p>“Is – how did you –,” Two lovebites on his freckled collarbone. “Boys. You like boys.”</p><p>“I do like boys,” Malfoy repeated, hands maneuvering metal to light a fire. Strands of hair floated dangerously close to the flame as he lit a new cigarette. “Do you?”</p><p>“I-I…,” Harry exhaled, aching to stop the tremble of his voice. Tears stung at the corner of his eyes.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Malfoy whispered, gaze fixed on what was below. The people were recognizable from here. He could tell who was wearing what, their age – nothing like the dots that moved in random directions, how they looked from Malfoy’s rooftop.</p><p>Harry took a deep breath, letting the secret uncurl slowly, unrushed. “Yeah, I do.”</p><p>He caught Malfoy’s eye then, the silver warm and melting, moonlight reflecting, dripping heat on him. A spark of wonder. The rush that went through Harry fed something inside him.</p><p>“And girls.”</p><p>He nodded, “Of course.”</p><p>“What if everyone hates me?” Harry mumbled, words overlapping together, tumbling out of his mouth without permission. If you give a man a secret, he should take care of it.</p><p>“You don’t have to be the great Harry Potter anymore,” he said without hesitation, as if he expected the question. He plucked the cigarette out of his mouth, two slender fingers next to each other and offered it to Harry.</p><p>Thoughtless, Harry took it. His body’s reaction was to finally let go of those tears, racing down his cheeks like two raindrops on a car window. He tried not to care that Malfoy is watching.</p><p> “You can just be Potter. You have always been Potter.”</p><p>“You can call me Harry,” he said. They looked at each other, knowing this was a slight adjustment in a puzzle that already fit. But this fit better.</p><p>He nodded again, a slow smile stretching his lips. “Harry.”</p><p>“Draco.” The name slipped out clumsily.</p><p>“Harry” – his heart soared at the sound – “you know it’s funny. Here I am, helping you with <em>this</em>,” he gestured between them, “…when I’m returning the favor.”</p><p>“You were my first real crush back then,” he continued, speaking over Harry’s shock. “You were the first and look how terribly I treated you – look how I treated the things I love. Thank Merlin, I didn’t realize what it was then. It wouldn’t have been good for either of us.”</p><p>Harry didn’t know what to make of that fact, a strange feeling overcoming him. He ignored it, in favor of latching onto a certain word. He smirked, “Loved?”</p><p>Draco scoffed, rose coloring his cheeks, “Haven’t you heard? Gays are dramatic. Keep up.”</p><p>They both started laughing after that. Things were going to be alright.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>Harry was on the way to the kitchen when he heard soft peals of laughter coming from the kitchen. Draco laughed with an open snort. Parkinson was over.</p><p>“Let’s just admit I’m right,” she drawled. Harry marveled at how she looked so put-together in just an oversized jumper and leggings.</p><p>Draco rolled his eyes, “I don’t think so, darling.”</p><p>He was also stupidly well-dressed, in a white tee and black joggers. </p><p>Harry coughed. They both turned, finding him under the doorway to the kitchen. Draco curious, Parkinson bored. Under their gaze, he felt undressed, even though that was ridiculous. They were eating breakfast at home!</p><p>“G’morning, Parkinson,” he mumbled. She offered a wave in return.</p><p>He grabbed a plate with toast on it. He pulled the butter towards him and realized he needed a knife. Draco seemed to notice too, and passed him his. Harry nodded in thanks, exchanging it for a spoon for his soup.</p><p>Harry accidently made eye contact with Parkinson. A spike of embarrassment went through him.</p><p>“Quite in sync, aren’t we?” she asked.  </p><p>Draco made a face at Pansy and shook his head. He paused for a second before smushing a palm against his face, covering his glasses.</p><p>“Don’t worry about Pansy,” he said. “She likes to say random, pointless and vague things a lot of the time.”</p><p>Parkinson gasped.</p><p>“Yes, that’s definitely who I am,” she said, her voice lowering an octave. “I am not only super vague, but I have an <em>obsession </em>with my hair, making banana bread and doing things in a painfully slow way.”</p><p>She continued to list all the things she was (not) and Malfoy (definitely) was. It eventually morphed in an impression of Draco from 6<sup>th</sup> year. And despite not seeing the performance, Harry thought it was spot-on and started to laugh.  </p><p>Then, the pressure on his eyes lifted and he was met with the image of Draco wrapping his arms around Pansy’s waist, both shaking with laughter. The light caught in his hair for a moment, his smile wide.</p><p>And Harry archived that moment in his head, tucking it into the corner of his mind.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>Harry was in a good place. A safe place to call home. Had the best friends in the world. A fulfilling job. Check, check, check. Voldemort was dead. Check.</p><p>He was probably in love. (Never mind the consequences). Check.</p><p>All the things on the checklist for a happy life.</p><p>But still, there were days where Harry wanted the Earth to swallow him whole.</p><p>Guilt gnawed at his heart. His 11-year-old self would have spit in his face. <em>You have everything we have ever wanted. Why are you still not happy?</em></p><p>“I don’t think I am meant to be happy,” he answered.</p><p>Draco looked at him, eyes unreadable, before he turned back to the wooden floor beneath them. Silence blossomed between them. As usual, Draco tipped him over. <em>You’re like a teapot</em>, he had said once. <em>One question and you spill out everything</em>.</p><p>He didn’t even ask anything this time, just came into his room at the wrong time.</p><p>“Don’t ever say that. You are allowed all your emotions,” he paused, clearing his throat. Pink dusted his cheekbones. “And you, of all people, deserve happiness.” </p><p>The words wrapped him up, warmth soaking into his body after a cold day. He looked at the man across from him.</p><p>But Draco was not looking at him. He stared out the window, rubbing vigorously at his forearm. Draco did this, wore long sleeves and unconsciously held his arms in place so that no one would see his mistake.</p><p>And suddenly, Harry felt like crying.</p><p>“You deserve it too,” he said instead.</p><p>Draco let out a soft snort, “I will settle for forgiveness.”</p><p><em>I forgave you a lot time ago. </em>Harry wanted to say, but Malfoy knew that. He must have. </p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>They were high, the good type. No paranoia, only happy feelings.</p><p>He was entranced with the way his tongue glided across his teeth, the feeling strange and addicting.</p><p>Draco was draped across the couch, leaning on Harry, another strange and addicting feeling. He smiled at Harry, teeth peeking out. Harry was close enough to see they were a little crooked.</p><p>He felt like he could do anything.</p><p>“Tell me about your tattoos,” he said, gazing down at him. There was no filter here, but Harry reasoned that he rarely had a filter when it came to Draco.</p><p>Draco met his gaze and thought for a moment, pursing his lips, an unfairly cute gesture.</p><p>He came to a decision. In one swift movement, he leapt off the couch and whipped off his jacket, exposing pale muscle. Harry shamelessly stared, noting the dimples near his waist.</p><p>“This is the ocean,” he said, like Harry hadn’t spent nights wanting to trace it with his fingers. He did that now, reaching out. Draco gasped.</p><p>Harry pulled back, “Sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Draco said, a brilliant blush on his neck. “Just cold.”</p><p>Harry tossed him an old blanket. The man wrapped it around himself before he flopped onto the couch again. Harry handed him the joint they shared.</p><p>He took it, slipping it between his pink lips. Watching Draco exhale smoke shouldn’t have been so bloody hot, but there it was.</p><p>“Why the ocean?” He breathed out.</p><p>“I like the ocean.”</p><p>He giggled. “That’s it?”</p><p>Draco shook his head, grinning.</p><p>“I knew it,” Harry said. If he smiled any wider, his face would split open.</p><p>“Can you keep a secret?”</p><p>Harry nodded.</p><p>Draco leaned into him again. The mix of peppermint and weed invaded his nostrils.</p><p>“My moon sign is Scorpio,” he whispered. His breath tickled Harry’s ear. “Scorpios are water elements. And that’s what I’m going to name my future kid. Scorpius.”</p><p>Harry, who had closed his eyes to regulate his breathing, opened one at Draco. “Constellations?”</p><p>“Black family tradition,” Draco said, voice still in Harry’s ear. Harry nodded, looking Sirius’s constellation from time to time.</p><p>Silence fell as they leaned into each other like that. Outside, there was music coming from a neighboring balcony. Harry was floating.</p><p>A part of him wanted to ask about the Dark Mark, trapped underneath the skin of his left forearm. But Draco’s breathing had grown even in his ear. He reached out, tracing the nape of his neck, staring at his peaceful expression.</p><p>Draco blinked up at Harry, eyes dazed. “You want to know about the other one?”</p><p>Harry stared, “Only if you want to tell me.”</p><p>He gave him a deep look, full of appreciation. Raw, open and honest. And Harry wanted to see that look for the rest of his life. Harry swallowed at the realization. <em>This was real</em>.</p><p>Draco let out a long breath. “I do.”</p><p>He let the blanket fall off his shoulders and extended his arms. Both were beautiful. His left forearm had it – something that used to be the Dark Mark, but not anymore. Draco had changed it. Flowers blooming out of what used to be a snake, birds flying out of the skull.</p><p>“My first tattoo,” he whispered. “Worst decision I ever made.”</p><p>“You were a child.”</p><p>“We were all children.”</p><p>“The birds?” Harry asked, tracing over them, leaving goosebumps on his pale skin.</p><p>Draco placed his finger next to Harry’s, tracing the bird’s path. They emerged from the skull, glanced around for a beat and eventually, soared away. “To remind me that I am free now.”</p><p>To think, Draco was looking for freedom while Harry was looking for a home. Harry decided these two things could co-exist. Their fingers brushed together.</p><p>Draco bit his lip. Harry glanced down at them. He really wanted to kiss him right now.</p><p>Harry leaned in, moving slowly, giving Draco time to push away. Instead, he shifted up and pushed his face closer, their lips grazing. He <em>wanted </em>this, the feeling going straight to Harry’s groin.</p><p>But then, Harry’s eye caught something on Draco’s chest. A thick ropy scar Harry was responsible for.  Guilt sank into his gut. He jerked back, feeling like he had been electrocuted. Draco caught his hand before he could go too far.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Harry choked out.</p><p>“I forgive you,” Draco said, pulling Harry back towards him. He intertwined their hands. “I forgive you.”</p><p>He put his head at Harry’s chest and Harry shakily placed his arms around the boy, sinking into the comfort it provided.</p><p> </p><p>They laid like that for a while, Harry’s arms wrapped around Draco, the old blanket strewn over them. He combed a hand through his hair. Draco told a story to his neck, brushing his lips across the sensitive skin. Harry’s breath came out in huffs. He felt Draco smirk into his skin.</p><p>Harry told the next story, how his parents fell in love. He told this story to himself when he couldn’t sleep, its familiar events warming his heart.</p><p>At the end of the story, Draco snuggled sweetly into his neck. Nothing could compare to the affection that rushed through him.</p><p>Draco rose his head up, suddenly. Harry’s heart skipped a beat, afraid he would address this thing between them. Instead, he asked, “Do you want a tattoo?”</p><p>Harry exhaled. “Maybe.”</p><p>“You want me to do it?”</p><p>“Now?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Harry moved to the client chair, laying on his stomach. The leather was cold against his cheek. And while he wasn't sure what he was doing, but it never felt more right.</p><p>“Are you sure you want me to choose?” Draco looked at him, eagerly. The brightness in his eyes quickly becoming one of Harry’s favorite things.</p><p>Harry nodded. “As long as it's something small and on my shoulder.”</p><p>“Okay,” Draco mumbled, already lost in his sketchbook. Harry watched him in silence, entranced with the way his fingers shifted the pencil over the paper.</p><p>When he tried to peek, Draco clutched it closer to his chest. “Can you just trust me?”</p><p>He nodded, surprised by how much he meant it. And happily, spent the rest of the time split between staring outside (the moon was full) and staring at Draco. He looked peaceful, no scrunched eyebrows or angry wrinkles, just light in his eyes.</p><p>Draco peered up at him, mouth forming a crooked smile.</p><p>“I’m done,” he said, shaking the sketchbook, careful to hold the image out of sight.</p><p>Harry raised an eyebrow, “I’m still not allowed to see it? Even when it’s about to go on my body?”</p><p>Draco put on his reading glasses, charmed with brightness filters.</p><p>“As long as small and can be on my shoulder,” he mocked, pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose. Harry begrudgingly admitted to himself it was a good impression.</p><p>“Just trust me. And take off your shirt.”</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t hurt as much Harry thought it would. He mostly focused on the feeling of Draco’s hands against his back instead of the vibration.</p><p>His curiosity begged him to sneak a glance at the mirror, but his anticipation kept him from doing so. Something thrilled him about knowing it was all in Draco’s hands.</p><p>When he was finally done, he wiped down Harry’s right shoulder, grazing his ribs lightly as he did. Shivers went down his spine. Draco noticed and started to trace his finger up and down Harry’s ribs.</p><p>They made eye contact again. If Draco kept looking at him like that, Harry might say something stupid.</p><p>As if hearing Harry’s thoughts, he looked away. “I need to do a spell, okay? For it to move the way I want it, too.”</p><p>Harry nodded.</p><p>Draco took his wand out from the cabinet and muttered various spells. Harry felt nothing but a cool sensation on his shoulder, welcome against the swollen skin.  </p><p>Then, Draco was quiet, admiring his work. His finger traced Harry’s shoulder, slowly. “It’s done.”</p><p>Excited, Harry got up and looked in the big mirror on the wall. Draco held up a smaller mirror, reflecting the image onto the big one.</p><p>On his left shoulder, there were two deer. A buck and doe chasing each other in circular pattern. The doe eventually paused, letting the buck catch up with her and they began to nuzzle each other.</p><p>Tears stung at his eyes, an emotion swelling in his heart that got caught in his throat.</p><p>“They have a beautiful story,” Draco said, eyes foggy.</p><p>“Thank you,” Harry whispered as he threw himself in Draco’s arms. Warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer.</p><p>He felt warm and alive and whole, something precious and beautiful blooming in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>Before Harry knew it, rays of light streamed through the window, painting the kitchen gold.</p><p>He looked outside to find the sky filled with splotches of yellow, orange and pink. His eyes felt heavy with tiredness, but he didn’t want to sleep.</p><p>This moment felt like a gentle, delicate thing – something he did not want to let go of yet.</p><p>Draco toddled in, the old blanket around him. He offered a small, sleepy smile to Harry as he settled into the seat beside him. They stared at the window in silence, savoring the peace.</p><p>“Harry?” Maybe the delicate thing was Malfoy.</p><p>“Draco?” Hope dripped off his voice like honey.</p><p>He titled his head. Harry watched as his eyelashes casts shadows across his face. And slowly, Malfoy reached out. His fingers ghosted over Harry’s cheek and grasped his chin. They both inhaled. His eyes drifted closed as he was pulled in – their lips <em>finally </em>connected.</p><p><em>Ah, it was us. We are the delicate thing</em>.</p><p>The pressure was feather light, like he was waiting for something. But Harry was done waiting.</p><p>He pushed forward, slotting their lips together, bringing their bodies closer. The soft sigh that escaped Malfoy went straight to Harry’s ego; he wanted to hear that sound again and again.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>They had been kissing for a while now. Long enough for the sky to turn blue. On his lap, Draco pulled away for air, a string of salvia connecting them. He stared at it in disgust, breathing heavy. But Harry could not have been any more turned on. He leaned in again.</p><p>Draco huffed out a laugh, cheeks rosy, pushing his face away. “You are insatiable.”</p><p>Harry settled for his neck, nuzzling it back and forth. “It was only one kiss.”</p><p>Draco pulled back, and gave him a blank stare. His lips were red and bruised.</p><p>“Okay, maybe two,” he admitted, leaning in again. He couldn’t help it. He was already addicted.</p><p> </p><p>In hindsight, Harry wasn’t sure who made the first move. He just knew they were both filled with this hot, visceral <em>feeling</em> all of a sudden and they were moving together, down the hall. His lower back knocked into some corner, a stack of papers may have fallen over. Harry wasn’t sure. He was too focused on Draco pulling down his trousers, and quickly moving to remove his own.</p><p>They eventually made it to the bedroom, mostly naked. The blankets hit Harry’s back. Draco climbed on top of him, slotting their hips together with delicious friction.</p><p>And Harry finally found his opportunity to make those love bites. <em>More than two</em>.</p><p>Draco titled his head back and gasped.   </p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>Amongst the blankets, their hands brushed together for a moment. It was slight, but Harry felt something warm sink itself into his chest. This was delicate – this love.</p><p>They were both torn apart by trauma and put together somehow, collaged into a whole being. </p><p>This love would take work. They would have to find new ways to fix themselves, to sew together. But when Malfoy moved again to clasp their hands together, tighter this time, and snuggled into the blankets beside him, Harry knew it was worth it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi all, i hope u enjoyed this!<br/>i wrote this with the thought "if i write enough moments, they will come together as a story" and here it is ! </p><p>thanks for reading !! comments appreciated :')</p></blockquote></div></div>
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